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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28961418">No Matter The Cost</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScrollingKingfisher/pseuds/ScrollingKingfisher'>ScrollingKingfisher</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Critical Role (Web Series)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Blood and Violence, Eldritch Monstosities, Gen, Insanity, It's not a fun one folks, Major Character Undeath, Mind Manipulation, Self-Harm, Spoilers for ep 122</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 09:48:47</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,450</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28961418</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScrollingKingfisher/pseuds/ScrollingKingfisher</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“You know these things are gonna eat us from the inside out? They’re gonna drive us mad.”</p>
<p>“Yes, Beauregard. I know.”</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>78</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>No Matter The Cost</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>HOLY SMOKES FOLKS<br/>That episode, huh? I don't see this going anywhere good. I am *here* for the drama, but in the meantime, have a bad possibility!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You know these things are gonna eat us from the inside out if we don’t manage to find a way to get them off? You feel it too, right? They’re gonna drive us mad.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Beau’s eyes are too sharp on his, too piercing. Caleb can feel them drilling into him even with his own gaze fixed on the red eye scored into his own flesh- her intensity underlined by the fear he can sense in the tremor of her breath, the jerkiness of her movements, the hushed hiss of her whisper to keep her fear hidden from the others huddled on the bed.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He can feel his own hands trembling too as he takes Beau’s in his own to inspect the eye gazing back malevolently. He welcomes the fear. The terror, at least, he’s sure is his own. The hunger in the pit of his stomach could be anyone’s.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, Beauregard. I know.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>…</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Lucien doesn’t say anything as they eat a quiet, tense breakfast the next morning. But his eyes linger on the back of Beauregard’s hand as she reaches for the milk jug, and when his crimson eyes meet Caleb’s, his mouth twists into a cruel smirk.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Caleb just takes a long sip of his coffee. Lucien thinks he can manipulate the things which have claimed his body as his own into doing what he wants by playing their game. Caleb knows that that arrogance will be his downfall. He has been under the thumb of people older and cleverer than himself before- he knows how this works. It is not a game that he will win. But he can make sure his friends don’t lose.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He meets Lucien’s gaze, feels the foreign-familiar hunger coil like a snake inside him. Smiles back.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lucien’s smirk falters.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>…</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They all decide to sleep in the same room again the next night. For safety.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Caleb knows it will not save them.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The voices come, whispering to him, wailing. The eye </span>
  </em>
  <span>burns</span>
  <em>
    <span>. Then it flows towards him, connects, and the knowledge BURNS, like fingernails drawn across his frontal lobe, inscribing scratches and scribblings and meaningless meanings across his vision, welcomeWELCOMEwelWELCOMEwelcome and he only just manages to pull his consciousness together enough to ask… to ask…</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Someone is screaming. The thing under his hands squirms, trying to get away, and Caleb grips on tighter, though his arms feel as though their veins are on fire, feeling his face twist into a rictus snarl as the hunger swells into a bonfire. He feels it! It’s right there, he has it, he just has to take, and take and take and </span>
  <em>
    <span>take- </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And then there’s more screaming, and more shouting, and other hands grab him and rip him away and his eyes fly open.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The Nein are crowded around. Horrified faces stare up at him. Jester’s eyes are round in shock, Veth’s arm still reaching out towards him. Fjord and Yasha have him by the shoulders from where they pulled him back, but then a wounded noise comes from the covers to his left, and Yasha breaks eye contact to look down.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Beau! Beau, are you okay?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Another wounded noise, and Yasha abandons him completely to bend down over Beau’s shaking shoulder. Her hair creates a black-and-white curtain, obscuring her from view.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Caleb?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Caleb turns. Fjord’s still staring at him, his brows furrowed, shock turning quickly to concern. “Are you… what was that? What happened? I was on watch, and one second you were asleep, and the next…”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Caleb takes a moment to take stock. His heart still hammers in his chest. The echoes of that hunger are slowly dissipating through the bottom of his ribcage, the whispers receding into the back of his brain, but adrenaline is still coursing through his veins. Feeling his hands shake, he looks down, and feels his breath catch in horror.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Red. Red staining his palm, under his fingernails, smeared up his wrists. Red from the eye blinking back at him from the back of his left hand.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He wrenches his shoulder out of Fjord’s grasp, leaning over Beau as well, ignoring Yasha’s snarl. He grabs her hand. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The outline of the eye is still there in bloody furrowed scratches, but the clear red lines of the tattoo are gone. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The wounds are deep and nasty. But they have done their job. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Beau snatches her hand back from him, cradling it and backing up against Yasha’s chest as though recoiling from a rabid animal. Not an unfair comparison, he thinks, feeling Beau’s blood drying under his nails. The others still stare, silent, horrified. Not knowing what to say.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He lets out a slow breath. It had worked. Risky, but it had worked. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>…</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing,” Beau tells him later, her hand wrapped in bandages. The others are avoiding him. He doesn’t blame them. But Beau, clever, brash, insightful Beau corners him as he picks up the components for his tower. “Don’t think I don’t see that bullshit martyr complex thing you’ve got going on. It’s gonna eat you alive, and you know it. That’s why you took the eye from me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Caleb grunts as he pushes himself up on stiff knees. He doesn’t bother refuting her. “I am fine for now. Let’s keep going, ya? We can deal with it when we need to. Perhaps Essek will have some better ideas of how to deal with it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They turn back to the rest of their group and the Tombtakers, huddled awkwardly together. Lucien’s gaze lingers on them before he turns away.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How do you think he’s even staying sane?” Beau mutters to him. “One was bad enough, but he’s got seven of the things.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Caleb flexes his hand. The eye blinks back at him, whispers in his mind. “Well, he has the rest of the Tombtakers. Maybe that is the necessity for his connection. To dilute the effects.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lucien, for all his aspirations and his high hopes of power, does not want to pay the price. He fears the Sum Novem and their madness, as he should. Caleb has been mad before. Once, maybe, the lure of curiosity and power would have been too much- he knows that his seventeen year old self would have been sucked under within a second. It will not be too hard to let himself fall into it once more. He lets his eyes fall onto the back of Lucien’s coat, and lets the whispers fill his ears.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>…</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They manage to lose Lucien that day, but only just. They know it’s just a matter of time before he catches up with them when they arrive, still panting, at the Vermas Outpost, Jester slamming the door behind them. Essek watches on, his confusion turning to something aghast as Fjord quickly extracts the amber, throwing it to Caleb, who promptly dumps out the contents on the floor, threshold crest and deceased assembly members and all.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What are you… what is this… what-?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“No time to explain!” Jester yells, her voice gone squeaky with fear.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Essek, we figured you’re the only one who’d know how to do this. How do we destroy a threshold crest?” Fjord asks, one eye on where Yasha and Beau have started to attempt to fortify the door.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Essek stammers. “I- I don’t- what? I don’t understand! I… I have no idea! I’ve never seen one of these things before, I don’t know how-”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Just do something!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Essek bends over the crest, his hands fluttering over it like he doesn’t know where to touch, but as he does, Caleb hears the crunch of footsteps outside the door and knows they’re out of time. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Someone tries the handle. There’s a thump. And then a pregnant pause. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Caleb leans in, the eyeless hand gripping Essek’s shoulder tight as he whispers. “Kill me afterwards if I'm not already dead. And whatever you do, do not read the book.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Essek looks up at him, eyes wide with confusion. “What are you-?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The side of the building, the whole wall, vanishes with a thunderous retort. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>…</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“And so it comes to this.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Caleb lets his eyes dart towards his friends in the steaming wreckage of the outpost. Caduceus’ body is crumpled around where the door once was. Jester and Fjord are held tight by telekinesis, frozen with their hands outstretched towards him. Beau is snarling against Zoren’s chokehold, Yasha unconscious on the ground close by. Otis’ dagger is held to Veth’s neck. Essek clutches his broken leg, one eye on the confrontation and one on the elf leaning over him. And then Caleb looks back to Lucien, peacocking in front of him.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“What have we here, a pretender? Someone coming to take my goal from me?” Lucien sighs and tuts, the strut of his walk not enough to hide the tension in his tail as it whips behind him. “You know, when you offered to read the book, I thought maybe. Maybe here was finally someone who would understand my goals, my ideals. My passion.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>He pauses. One of the swords he’s holding by his sides flicks slightly, a droplet of Yasha’s blood rolling off the tip. “But I see now that I was wrong! You want it all to yourself. What a pity.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Caleb’s eyes are drawn to the eye on his neck as it turns to gaze at him, and he feels that hunger well up inside again. Whisperings resonate inside his skull of satisfaction, of anticipation. It </span>
  <em>
    <span>wants </span>
  </em>
  <span>them to fight. To prove themselves. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He allows himself a hollow laugh. “You feel it too, don’t you? I would not be so certain of your victory.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lucien narrows his eyes. Sets his jaw. “I was here first. You don’t stand a chance.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Caleb raises his hand so that the eye stares outward, unblinking. “They don’t seem sure.” he smiles bitterly. “So go on then. Try and take them from me.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>…</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It comes down to this in the end- two men wrestling in the dirt. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They slip and slide, the frozen mud providing no purchase as they tussle, weapons discarded as they kick and scratch like wild animals. Lucien hisses as Caleb’s fingers catch on his coat, tearing it from his body, only to turn and sink his fangs into the meat of Caleb’s forearm. Caleb hears himself scream, but his vision is a static of symbols, scribbling and scratching and red, so much red, and he feels the teeth release his arm and hears another scream and it’s only then that he realises that he’s got his fingernails dug into the red flesh of the eye on the side of Lucien's neck.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He can feel it there under his fingers, the heat writhing and squirming like a living thing. With a vicious satisfaction he digs in deeper, blood welling up around the sharp points of his nails, </span>
  <em>
    <span>takeTAKEtakTAKEtake </span>
  </em>
  <span>and ignores Lucien’s howl as he pulls and pulls and </span>
  <em>
    <span>pulls-</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>With a wrench, he rips it from his skin and throws back his head to scream victory at the sky. Lucien wrenches away and scrambles back, hand clapped over his bleeding throat, and Caleb can see the first real fear in his eyes. Caleb feels himself smile, all feral bared teeth, and lets the hunger consume him.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>One by one, he rips them from him. With bloody nails and blunt teeth. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>By the last one Lucien is cowering as Caleb advances on him, veins throbbing with unnatural power, mind abuzz with voices, iron under his tongue.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Please… please, Caleb, please don’t do this…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He doesn’t even pause. Blood spatters against the snow, and Caleb’s eyes widen as red fills his vision, the whispers rising into a cacophonous harmony in his skull that blots out nearly everything, </span>
  <em>
    <span>yesYESyesYES! WELCOME! WelcomeWELCOMEwel</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>WELCOME!</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He hears nothing through the ringing in his ears, but he feels Lucien squirm in his grip, trying to get away again, and the hunger rears again. With a snarl he reaches in deeper, and the Voices of the Sum Novem roar with approval. He buries his fingers into the flesh, tearing through skin and muscle with a strength that is not his own until YES he feels it, it’s RIGHT THERE and he grasps it in metaphorical hands, not an eye this time but a squirming roiling ball of consciousness, he feels it’s fear and he </span>
  <em>
    <span>relishes </span>
  </em>
  <span>in it and he senses the jagged fracture lines across it and he digs in and he </span>
  <em>
    <span>tears </span>
  </em>
  <span>and- </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The soul shatters in his hands. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He falls onto the scraps like a starved wolf. Rips into them, consumes them, gorges himself on them until he feels he’s going to burst. One last fragment retreats, and he lets it go, lazily releasing it to scurry back to its body. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Caleb falls backwards, coming back to himself with a hacking cough. His breath comes in heaving gasps. Streaks of red cross his vision, disguising the blood smeared on his arms and chest and caked around his mouth- whispers sing in the edges of his hearing, the world multiplying and fracturing into kaleidoscopic glory around him. He laughs, and he can hear it echoed in his mind, a cracking, high-pitched giggle. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Caleb?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He turns. Oh yes… he remembers now. People. His… friends? Their faces swim before him, and one last speck of humanity lights up warm inside him, glowing under his ribs. Yes, his friends. His family.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He remembers now. One last thing to do. Just one.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>WhaWHATwhatWHATwhat? </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Caleb smiles. He reaches for his own chest. Places his own fingernails against his chest. Digs in. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>NO! NonoNOnoNO!</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He digs in harder. Scratches deeper. His own blood starts to stain the snow under his knees scarlet. He feels his fingernails scrape bone, and the pain is a brand, bright and beautiful and all-consuming, but he feels something there and he </span>
  <em>
    <span>pushes- </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>NOSTOPn</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>oSTOPstop</span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>NO!!!</em>
  </b>
  <b>
    <em><br/>
</em>
  </b>
  <b>
    <em><br/>
</em>
  </b>
  <span>He grasps the burning, ruined form of his own soul in his fingertips. Feels the weak points running through it. The hunger burns brighter than the pain, the urge to self-destruct all consuming. </span>
  <b>
    <em>STOPSTOPSTOPSTOPSTOP-</em>
  </b>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>He opens his eyes for one last glimpse of them. Smiles. And-</span>
</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Breaks.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>...</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>They bury his body in the little town of Blumenthol, next to two simple gravestones and the shell of a burnt-out house. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Nine months later, a hand pushes up through the dirt, the eye on the back of it burning ruby red. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The man with no memories crawls his way out of the grave. Stares uncomprehendingly at the scars on his arms and chest. He glances towards the towering spires of the city, barely visible in the distance. A flicker of memory shudders through him- hadn’t there been people, once? Maybe nine of them. Something like that. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He starts walking. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
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